


Between the Dog and the Wolf

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Jack, Rhys gets a few licks in too, rival CEOs au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: A strange alpha tries to take advantage of the Atlas CEO.Thankfully Handsome Jack is around to protect Rhys from harm.





	Between the Dog and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote something small with the Rival CEOs AU and protective Jack! Hope you like it.

Oppressive hands close around Rhys’ throat before he realizes what’s happening.

It should be impossible to take Rhys unawares, not with the upgrades to his ECHOeye and his own, well-conditioned paranoia, but he can’t deny the fingers closing around his throat nor the pain as he draws in one last gasp of air.

But Rhys is a fighter—even the most extraordinary omegas have to be, have to do things twice as well to be considered half as good as any common alpha—and he claws at the broad hands wrapped around his throat, nails digging hard into the skin and flexing tendon and drawing whiffs of blood. He hears gruff swearing behind him as he kicks, raking the heel of his boot down his assailant’s shin.

But his victory is short lived as the fingers around him tighten, and before Rhys can react the world blurs around him and his forehead smashes  _hard_  into the wall, steel reverberating around in his skull. The assailant slams his head again and again, pulping his mouth and nose and flooding blood into the back of his constricted throat.

Whoever’s attacking him is a brute, larger and stronger than Rhys is and easily able to get him on the ground now that Rhys is dizzy and stunned and bleeding. A heavy presence looms over him as the hands gratefully move from his throat and allow him to take a rough gasp of air. Before he can call for help, however, a palm slams against the side of his face and crushes his jaw out of place.

Pain lances through his brain and a strangle noise falls from his lips. Numbness rapidly spreads through his jaw but the other parts of his body are painfully aware—especially as his assailant slides his hands down the curve of his sides before settling on his hip.

Blood seeps from between Rhys’ teeth and pools out of his slack lips, his ECHOeye glaring up in glowing hatred but all he can see through the frazzle curtain of his own hair is dark eyes glimmering from behind a black cloth mask. He can’t focus properly, subsystems beyond the reach of his injured consciousness and unable to fish anyone information on the attacker as he starts to grope Rhys’ body.

The reek of dangerous alpha stuffs up Rhys’ nose, struggle renewed when a hand fished beneath the hem of his coat and tries to tug off his belt. His most intimidating snarl comes out little more than an agonized choke as he kicks out above him, trying to catch his attacker in the groin, mutilate him before he even  _dares_  to think about defiling the CEO of Atlas like this.  

But the dizziness and pain starts to get to him and nausea bubbles in his stomach, mixing with horror and panic because  _damn it_ —it shouldn’t be this easy to get him down, he commands  _respect_  and power and no one should be allowed to do this to him and  _get away with it_ —

But just as the alpha’s hands pull at his waistband and Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, ready to fall into unconsciousness, the weight and heavy, vile breathing above him rips away with a rough, deep  _snarl_  that has Rhys’ heart leaping in his chest. It’s  _familiar_ , as is the smell that cuts clear through the suffocating smog of the other alpha’s stench.

Rhys braces his hands on the ground as soon as the other man is ripped off of him, gloved fingers digging into metal flooring as he slowly pushes himself off. Growls and screams swell up behind him but all he can focus on right now is sitting up and moving  _away_.

He drags himself over to the wall—speckled with his own blood—and with no small amount of effort slumps against it. Now, braced upright, he can finally watch as Handsome Jack pins his assailant to the ground.

Rhys has never seen Jack so angry, and Jack isn’t a calm man by any means. But the look on his face right now contorts in fury so fierce Rhys worries his skin might break apart, but the blood splattered on the pale, synthetic flesh of his mask isn’t his own.

Rhys never sees the real face of his assailant before Jack pummels it into wet mush beneath the mask. With one final, wet  _thwack_  he lets the man’s head hang back, fabric covering the face glistening. Jack stands hunched above the dead man, hand still fisted in his shirt. He breathes heavily, body shuddering with each twitch of his lungs as he falls back from the state of pure animal rage. Rhys doesn’t think he could say something, even if his jaw hadn’t been popped out of place, but he manages a low whine—more of a gurgle, really—that catches the alpha’s harried attention.

“ _Rhys_.” Jack lets the man fall with a  _splat_  against the ground, shoes skating through the puddling blood before he falls to his knees in front of Rhys. A big hand—strong, but filled with warmth and  _safety_ —cups his cheek, thumb touching just below the split in Rhys’ lower lip.

“Can’t believe— _dared_  to touch you, frikkin’ son of a taint, wish—should’ve done more,  _bastard_ , made it last  _longer_ —“ Jack spits out, sentences fractured even through his diminishing rage. Rhys forgets for a moment and forgets his jaw, blood and spit at the corner of his mouth.

Jack’s fingers shake, and anger flares up in the depths of his eyes once more. He hisses under his breath, his other hand coming to stroke Rhys’ hair, clumsily petting it back into place.

“…Let’s get you to medical bay, ‘kay pumpkin?” Jack swallows and speaks after a moment, his own voice hoarse and worn-out. Rhys’ throat works though he doesn’t try to speak again, saving his words for later when he can properly speak them.

He doesn’t complain when Jack picks him up, the broad arms around a thousand lightyears away from those that had pinned him down and pummeled his face moments earlier. He rests his head against Jack’s shoulder, finally allowing himself to slip into a daze as colors and shapes fade around him.

Rhys wakes up in a temporary bed in the medical bay with a nurse swabbing his wounds. A low whimper builds in his throat when he can’t detect Jack beyond the cling of his scent to his skin and clothes, but when he looks down he sees a Hyperion brand nova shield clipped to his lapel.

Even so, as he settles back into his bed, wounds bandaged and jaw wired back into place, he hopes Jack will return to visit him soon.


End file.
